Father’s scrutiny
inspired terror,
but that night,
catching the whiff
of alcohol on
underage breath,
I spied a hint
of a sparkle –
dared say so
“Chip off the ol’ block, eh?”
“Don’t you know it,”
he winked back.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
Winter defines this stage,
this page, night descending
too early for my taste
If I catch a falling star,
can I shed the excess
layers of this confinement
Follow animal impulses
to a sunnier clime, restore
exuberance of noble youth?
Passion persists, intelligence
intact, just need a brighter
angle from which to reveal it.
(Lighting Call first appeared here January, 2019.
Linking up with Reena’s Xploration challenge: light. I
mage my own.)
Forgive the dance –
it’s what I do –
step forward,
slide back,
shuffle, then
lose the rhythm
and start again.
Reaching forward
heart securely tucked,
something embedded –
cellular perhaps –
invites the struggle
and so, I dance –
yesterday, a warrior
today the fool
tomorrow only knows
multi-faceted,
roughly cut,
a gem
of an undefined hue
I will always try again.
(Poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, entitled “Forgive The Dance”, October, 2019. Image my own.)
Cornflower submits
to Time’s deadlines
so, why am I always
gasping to catch up?
Is it strength, or failure
to amplify pressure –
expectations set on high?
Oh, to be a simple flower.
(Photo my own).
Objectify my body –
I am anti-poetic –
this shore untameable
I am fertile, yes
a producer of life,
subject to tides
and winds, shamed
by man’s propensity
to overpower.
Let me not suffer
the consequences
of inhumane laws.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
Light fades
sun’s optimism
giving way to shadows
My eyes are drawn to hidden places
warily seeking the source of this disquiet
What beasts inhabit crevices, what creatures lurk
hiding in the trees that loom over me?
Could it be the incarnation
of trapped souls
taunting my passage?
(Image my own)
Arrange the bones
in a triangle –
incant the words
three times three
Burn the evidence
erase your steps
Paddle off
into the mist –
You’ll be free…
(Must be getting in the spirt of Hallowe’en, or watching too many True Crime episodes, lol. Image my own.)
I remember Jasper
how we drove up
in that bolt bucket
drank grape soda
from the dime store
listening to Dylan
How the mountains
echoed our loneliness
the answers we sought
turning us inside out –
I dream of it still.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson
Art mine – an early attempt at watercolour)
Envisioning breakup –
past haunting possibility –
she navigates uncertainty
an angry dreamer
Tries to settle on truth
but with rage as filter
she processes and processes
reaching no solid ground
Love, she concludes,
is beyond availability
plans a solitary existence
until vulnerability caves again.
(for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: haunting, and Reena’s Xploration challenge: filter.
Image my own.)
She flows
unapologetic of her girth,
does not flinch
at barges scoring her surface
nor paddle boats laden with curiosity.
Confident in her fluidity,
she bears the secrets of life –
the sludge of humanity in her belly –
stirs the minds of merchants, and children,
tolerates those who gather at her banks.
The final word is hers – she knows –
no boundaries can contain her wrath
still waters rise and spill;
she is a dragon
Nature’s force,
and she is magnificent.
(‘Mississippi’ first appeared here in November, 2017.
Image my own. Not the Mississippi.)
One Woman's Quest 